‘Mama!’

Sibbie had taken to calling Mags that, though she gave her no encouragement and tried to make her say ‘Mags’. Montel often showed Sibbie a portrait of Susan – one of the few fully clothed portraits he had – and told her over and over again that this was her mama.

Mags looked into Sibbie’s chubby face and had the urge to pick her up and hold her to her. As she went to do so, a cry from Betsy stopped her. ‘Eeh, Mags, the babby’s coming.’

Mags cried out with joy. So elated did she feel that she clasped the hands of Daisy and Florrie and had them skipping around: ‘The baby’s coming, the baby’s coming.’

‘Mags, you daft ha’p’orth, stop your antics and help me. I don’t reckon as it’s going to be long.’

At this, Mags went into nurse mode. ‘I’ll help you, Betsy. Let’s get you to your bedroom. Montel will take over here.’ As they went through the room allocated as Betsy’s living room, Mags tried to soothe any worries Betsy might have. ‘Don’t worry about the baby being a few weeks early, Betsy, everything will be fine.’

‘I knaw. I’ll just be glad to get it over with, lass.’

Hours later, Mags didn’t feel quite so confident as she mopped Betsy’s brow. Betsy’s energy had all but drained from her. ‘We’ll have to send for the doctor, Betsy. I thought the baby was coming, but you don’t seem able to get it any further.’

‘Help me, Mags. Don’t let me babby die.’

Mags knew the doctor would take an hour to get to them, as there wasn’t one in the village, and even if Montel went by car to Stranraer to fetch him, that wasn’t to say that he could come at once. She had no choice – she had to help Betsy herself. ‘I’ll get my hands around the head, Betsy, and you push. I think the child is lying face-down. If my efforts don’t work, then I’m sorry, my dear friend, but I’m going to have to cut you.’

‘Do what you have to, Mags, but help me . . . Help me!’

Betsy’s desperation provided the extra impetus the baby needed – one push and Mags could take its head in her hands and twist gently, and this had the baby slithering out. ‘Oh, Betsy, it’s here, and it’s a boy!’ A piercing wail drowned them both out for a moment. ‘Oh, and with a strong pair of lungs.’ Though more a wail of ‘See to my needs’, I would say, just like his father.

Brushing this thought away, Mags shook herself mentally. She didn’t want to think of the child in that way. She looked at Betsy. Though she was red and sweaty, with her hair matted to her head, Betsy’s smile told of extreme joy. ‘Billy – I have to call him Billy after my Bill. Eeh, Mags, a boy. Let me see.’

The tiny form, covered in blood, wriggled in Mags’s arms as she cut the cord. ‘Almost done, just making him a neat belly-button.’